


Green(horn)

by fansofcollisions



Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Kiss, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-21
Updated: 2013-07-21
Packaged: 2017-12-20 21:05:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/891847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fansofcollisions/pseuds/fansofcollisions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fallen Castiel has a penchant for crying wolf- at least where demons are concerned- that's starting to annoy the everloving crap out of Dean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Green(horn)

The first place it happens is a grungy bar on the outskirts of Toledo, the kind that sixty year old truckers and road-weary students with the munchies frequent. Exactly the type of place that ten years ago Dean would have breezed through with the grace of a ballet dancer on point, charming the girls and swindling the pool sharks and making it out half tipsy with five twenties and two phone numbers in his pocket.

But now, with a fallen angel and a ragged brother in tow and a couple hundred miles behind them, Dean can’t help but feel plagued by the atmosphere. His senses are tired and hazed over with cigarette smoke and body odour and the beer he honestly wishes was coffee at the moment - anything to cut through the buzzing exhaustion of ten hours on the road.

They’re _semi-retired_ , in that Cas and Sam tend to spend most of their time in the bunker nowadays- both still recovering from their afflictions even months after the night the sky fell- and Dean finds himself twitching with worry any time he gets more than fifty miles away from their makeshift home. He knows enough of this life, and their track record, that every time he steps out that door there’s more than a slim chance he’ll come back to find one or both of them comatose, or missing, or dead. Cases like this, that require their specific skill set and can’t be passed on to another link on the hunter network, are few and far between and Dean’s grateful for that, but-

Is this what it’s like? To feel _old_?

There’s a leggy blonde, all done up for a place ten rungs higher in class than this pit, stretched out against the bar. She turns her head in Dean’s direction and gives him that look, the lure that draws the men from their tables to join a pretty girl for a drink, the one that promises _no strings attached_ and _I’ve got a hotel room with a six pack and vodka chasers_ and _I don’t do second dates but for you, honey? I might make an exception_. It used to make his heart thrill, that look. Now he sees it and all he feels in his chest is a weary ache.

He’s not too old for this. He’s not.

“Excuse me, boys, but strapless number and I,” he inclines his head in the bar’s direction, “need to have a little chat. So, um-“ Dean tries to smile, but it gets caught somewhere close to his lips. Sam doesn’t even look up from his mug and something tugs hard in Dean, sends him off-balance. He’s embarrassed for reasons he can’t explain. He wants his brother to make a joke or scathing remark. He needs the playful banter to remind him that this is what he does. What he _is_. Cause right now, he feels like he’s watching someone else go through the motions, and he pities that man. Dean does not do self-pity.

Cas turns his gaze to the blonde. His eyes narrow. “Dean-“

“Drink your beer, Cas,” Dean grunts and pushes up off his chair, doing his best to infuse a sultry ease to his steps as he makes his way towards predatory green eyes. She smiles at him, all false coyness and sugar. The beer isn’t agreeing with his stomach. His mouth aches for coffee’s bitterness.

He shoves his hands in his pockets and slides onto the stool, signalling the bartender for another two with a flick of his fingers. He still knows the code of this place, of every identical dive like it. He knows how to order drinks, to fend off the sharks looking for an easy mark, to get a girl like this into his bed. It’s as easy as breathing. And he knows what the next step is.

Smile.

Compliment, subtle jab, wait for the tell, push forward. Touch her hand, two more drinks, five dollar tip and out the door. Her place, two hours, new bruises, hasty retreat. Crap motel, three more hours of sleep and on the road again.

It’s all so easy.

He can’t get his lips to move.

“Something wrong, hon?” Green eyes flash with feigned tenderness and the girl strokes his arm, biting her lip. Dean laughs, the sound guttural and too loud in his ears. Everything here is too loud.

“Nothing at all, sweetheart.” _Finally_ the smile comes. “So tell me, what’s a pretty girl like you doing all alone at the bar?”

They trade flirts like currency, buying up the other’s resolve until they’re both maxed out. How many compliments does it take before she’s charged and raring to go? How many is he worth to her?

She takes his hand. That’s the sweet spot, then. Three beers and twenty minutes of empty flattery. “You wanna get out of here?” she says, standing already because she knows the answer. Foregone conclusion. Dean made his choice the moment he got up off his chair.

Dean glances at the table where his companions were sitting only a half hour before. It’s empty now. Must’ve gone home, or found girls of their own (though Dean can’t really see either of them picking up anything but tetanus at a place like this). The glistening foam on the edge of the abandoned beer bottles says they can’t have left long ago, maybe even minutes. They better have left his damn car or he’ll be hitching back to the motel tonight after he’s inevitably kicked out at three AM with a sore back and blissed out expression and no phone number to show for it. He’s really not in the mood to deal with grizzled truckers and freezing cabs tonight.

The girl squeezes his hand as they walk out the door. He didn’t find out her name, because it doesn’t matter. None of this matters. She doesn’t know his either, and he doesn’t care. He doesn’t.

The body slam takes him by surprise and her grip is wrenched from his as he’s thrown against the wall. Dean wheels to find his attacker, tensing himself for another blow that doesn’t come. Instead, he sees the shadow of the girl being dragged around the corner. He curses and pushes himself off the ground, tearing after the assailants.

The sight that greets him as he rounds the building is nothing short of shocking. Cas has got green eyes pinned against the wall, the demon blade pressing a hard line against her heaving throat. Sam stands a few paces away, arms crossed, bouncing on his toes and tensed up for a fight.

“What the hell are you doing?” he yells, rushing forward. Sam moves to intercept him but he’s not quite nimble enough to grab Dean before he ducks under his arm.

“What the hell-“ he repeats as he grabs Cas’s shoulder and drags her off the now weeping girl, who collapses into the dirt, “are you _doing_?”

“She’s a demon, Dean!” Cas says, breathing heavy and straining in Dean’s grip.

Dean looks at Sam for confirmation, but Sam twitches and shrugs, uncertainty in his eyes. “I mean, Cas said…” Dean glances down at the girl who stares back at him, dazed and teary-eyed and afraid.  

“Jesus,” he mutters. “If I let you go, Cas, you promise you’re not going to go all Guantanamo on me?” Cas nods curtly, a muscle in his jaw spasming. “Alright.” He releases Cas, but keeps him in the corner of his eye as he kneels to check on the girl. She’s bleeding a little from a nick on her neck but other than that, she seems ok. Apart from the shaking and crying and no doubt a few therapy bills, that is.

There’s a tap on his shoulder. Sam hands him a flask. “Hold out your arm for me,” he orders as gently as he is able. She presents a manicured hand that doesn’t steam or burn when it’s dribbled with the holy water. Dean sighs. “You ok to stand?”

Dean helps her to her feet. The moment she’s up she takes off towards the parking lot, as fast as her heels will allow. He waits until she’s out of sight before he rounds on Cas.

“You wanna tell me what that was about?” he barks.

“I thought-“

“No, you didn’t. You acted. And some poor girl’s going to be crying for days because two crazy guys came out of nowhere and tried to slit her throat.” Cas shakes his head, again and again.

“No. It was clear. She _was_ a demon. She-“

“Why, Cas? What made you so sure?”

Cas blinks at him. “She felt… _bad_.”

“What does that even mean?”

“It means I followed my instinct,” Cas snaps. “Isn’t that what you always tell me to do?”

“Yeah, well? Your instinct sucks.” He doesn’t even know why he’s so angry. God knows the guy’s got reason enough to be paranoid. He himself has to tamp down the urge to splash every person he sees on the street with holy juice. He’s just had a couple more years of powerless humanity to learn to deal with the constant suspicion. “From now on, clear this type of thing with me. We don’t need any more innocent blood on our hands.”

“What if you’re not there, or incapacitated. Should I just let the demon kill me?” Cas challenges.

“Don’t be a smart-ass.” Cas’s glare doesn’t let up. “Look,” Dean says, scrubbing his hand over his eyes, “we’ll talk about this more tomorrow. Right now I just want to go to bed and forget about demon crap, and monster crap, and every kind of crap under the sun. I’m done babysitting for tonight. Come on.” His two charges follow, sheepish and apologizing on the way for the bad call. Dean tries and fails to summon the energy to care.

Dean lets Sam drive back to the motel, sends Cas on his way to his own room and collapses on his mattress with boneless exhaustion.

He’s relieved to be here, on this bed instead of in the girl’s apartment, and he doesn’t know what to do that feeling. He tells himself it’s because they avoided a close call, that he was too tired tonight anyways, that maybe she just wasn’t his type after all.

Dean sighs and presses himself into his pillow and tries to remember how not to care about anything at all. It tends to make sleep easier to come by.

oxoxoxoxoxo

Three days later, and the second time nearly gets Sam killed when a real demon comes out of the woodwork and tackles him while Dean’s busy pulling Cas off of some Bellbrook bartender.

Luckily it was a quiet night and most people had scrammed the moment Dean pulled the knife so there were no witnesses to the mid-thirties, balding hippie’s sputtering, orange-glowy death except the very confused bartender. She luckily assumed Cas had been trying to protect her from the maniac who, Dean assured her, was both high _and_ armed, making his death unfortunate self-defence.

Cas looks more ashamed this time, more uncertain. Dean doesn’t quite have the heart to yell at him for it, but wonders if it might be best to restrict his drinking privileges, if two beers turn him into a demon obsessed crazy of the John Winchester stock.

“I was sure…”

“I know, buddy. Like I said: ask, don’t act.”

oxoxoxoxoxo

Third time’s a charm, and all that. More like third time’s usually the one that convinces Dean there’s a pattern. Maybe not a pattern he can understand, but it’s one nonetheless.

They’re on their way back to the bunker, about a two day drive from home, and taking a pitstop in a little café because Sam needs to do some maintenance on their current line of credit card frauds if they want a place to sleep tonight without getting arrested, and there’s no wifi on the open road. Tired of his current company after yet another grueling day of driving, he’s chatting with a pretty yuppie pre-med at the counter when a hand grasps his forearm and pulls him away. “Sorry, got to borrow your date for a minute,” Sam says, doing the little mouth quirk thing he seems to think actually comes off as a placating smile before turning away and dropping into a frown. “You’ve gotta do something, man,” he whispers. “Cas is spazzing and he won’t listen to me. You need to get him to shut up so I can finish this and we can get going.”

Dean rolls his eyes at they make their way to where Cas is seated at a booth. He plants his hands on the table and does his best not to let the aggravation bleed into his voice. “Look, I’d like to get home before dark, so if Sam needs some peace and quiet you’ve gotta try and give it to him.” Cas twitches, staring over Dean’s shoulder. “What’s the deal?”

“Dean…” Cas says, his voice plaintive.

He glances to where Cas is looking, then turns back as comprehension dawns. “No. Nuh-uh.”

“Dean, please-“

“Cas, that is not a demon. Just like that bartender wasn’t a demon, or the blonde chick back in Toledo. I don’t know what the hell is up with you. What do you want me to do? Huh? Spill a laced drink on every girl I run into just to make sure she doesn’t sizzle? Come on.”

The brunette shakes her head in his direction and shrugs before heading out the door. “And there goes another one. I swear to god, Cas, if you don’t stop cockblocking me I’m never going to get laid again.” The joke rolls easily off his tongue, though to be honest nothing sexual had even crossed his mind. Too young, too much potential to actually make something of herself. Totally wrong for him.

Cas tenses at his words. Dean catches him by the shoulders before he can start towards the door, after the retreating form of the woman.”Woah. Slow down, ok?” Dean gives his shoulders what he hopes is a reassuring squeeze.

“Dean, if you could just _feel_ what I feel right now-“

Some of the other patrons are starting to stare so Dean manoeuvres the three of them into their booth, Sam on one side and Cas tucked into the corner beside him so that he can’t bolt.

“What do you feel?” he asks in a low voice once they’re settled in.

Cas brushes his thumb along his index finger, a little tick he’s developed since his fall that comes out whenever he’s anxious, or uncertain. It’s somewhat endearing, seeing Cas pick up these humanlike traits, though they still seem mismatched to his demeanor, which continues to hold the rigidity of his previous angelic status.

“It’s the same with all of them, the same feeling. It’s hard to explain.” He rubs the back of his neck. Now that move is all Cas. “It feels like… like when I used to see a demon’s true face.” Dean nods, and he elaborates. “Obviously I can no longer glimpse the true visage of the creatures but… revulsion, anger. A sense of wrongness that I can feel in my-“ He gestures to his chest, sweeping his hand down from his heart to lower stomach.

“And you get that when you see… girls?” Dean prods. So either Cas is an extremely vitriolic brand of gay, or he’s a misogynist and all the angel mojo just suppressed it. Dean doesn’t really like either option.

“No. No, not all women arouse this reaction in me.” _He really could have chosen a better way to phrase that._ “Just…”

“Just the ones Dean talks to,” breathes Sam. Dean stares at him from across the booth.

“What?”

“I mean,” says Sam, with that glint in his eye that proves he’s about to espouse a revolutionary theory, “every time this has happened, you’ve been chatting up a girl, Dean.”

“What? No. No, I haven’t been chatting up-“

“So you weren’t going home with the blonde in Toledo?”

“Well, I mean-“ Dean spreads out his arms helplessly. “But I wasn’t chatting up _this_ girl, today! We were just talking.”

Sam shrugs, his piece said. Dean glances back and forth between his brother and Cas. “… That makes no sense. Why would Cas-“

“Sam has a point,” Cas says, studying the wallpaper and picking at an edge that’s come unglued. “I still don’t understand why it’s causing this reaction in me, but it does seem to be the source. I watched you many times with women before I fell, but it never elicited this feeling.”

“Well, like all the other angels kept on saying, you guys experience emotions differently than humans do, right?” Sam supplies. “So maybe this is just an emotion you haven’t acclimatized to.”

“Do you have any idea which one?” Cas asks, leaning across the table in wide-eyed anticipation, as though Sam is about to reveal some great universal secret to him. It never fails to astonish Dean how quickly Cas’s air can shift from a scary-ass, take no prisoners soldier to a childlike innocence, though not without the stubbornness of every child Dean’s ever met. Something unexplained starts tugging in Dean’s gut as well.

“Ummm… jealousy?” Sam blushes and takes a swig of his abandoned coffee. Dean looks at him, dumbfounded.

“You seriously telling me, Cas, that you’ve been pissed off about every single one of these chicks? You know, all you have to do is take some initiative. Can’t expect life to just hand you beautiful women, you’ve gotta work for them.” He pats his chest. “Good looks aren’t everything, my friend, I worked for my game-“

“Dean.” Sam clears his throat, then mumbles, “I’m pretty sure you’ve got it the wrong way around.” He reddens even more. It takes a second for him to work out exactly what Sam is implying, but as soon as he does his head jerks to look at Cas, to measure his reaction.

“No way.”

Cas’s miserable face tells him he’d very much rather be on the other side of the booth. “That would be… plausible. I think.” He looks down at his hands.

“Jeez, Cas, I spend twelve hours straight with you a day in the damned car, why would you possibly want more time with me?” Sam shifts in his seat and sends Dean a glare that tells him he’s being a huge idiot and he needs to clean up his act. He’s quite familiar with the look. Cas is very interested in Sam’s coffee cup. “What?”

“Dean, I swear to God-“ Sam slaps his hand on the table and glares at the ceiling like it’s done something to offend him before getting up and walking away in a huff. A merry jingle signals his departure from the shop.

“Who pissed in his dinner?” Dean says, glancing over his shoulder.

“We should probably follow him,” Cas grunts, hand still clasped around the tepid cup of coffee.

Dean slides out and lets Cas past, still trying to work out exactly where he got lost in the conversation. Cas grabs his arm before he can exit the shop, however.

“Dean,” he says, and Dean wonders if there’ll ever be a time he stops starting every sentence in the same predictable way. He’s not really sure he wants him to. Call him a narcissist, but there’s something pleasant about a reminder that the person you’re talking to really wants to talk to _you_ , that not just anyone will do. “I don’t want to go on like this.”

“Like what?”

“Seeing demons around every corner, experiencing that _feeling_. I don’t want to hurt people who don’t deserve it.”

“I’d prefer it if you stopped chasing off every girl in a ten mile radius too, yeah.” Dean laughs half-heartedly. But Cas’s face falls and Dean’s smile slips away.

Cas takes a moment to search for his next words, his expression troubled. “May I- I’d just like to try something. To be sure.”

“Yeah. I guess, if you think it will help.” He glances down at his shoes. “I mean, I-“

He doesn’t get to finish whatever meandering end that sentence would have come to, because Cas’s lips cover his. The kiss is heavy, warm and rough and inexperienced. Fingers clutch the sides of his jaw, too tight to be comfortable. The scrape of stubble and smell of men’s aftershave throw his mind for a loop and he can’t think, can’t move. His fingers seem to be clutching fabric but he can’t remember how they got there. He thinks he hears a wolf-whistle over the buzzing in his ears.

The vise grip on his jaw slackens and he pulls back. His brain seems to be misfiring, because it’s telling him that Cas just _kissed him_. “Um.”

Castiel steps back, and nods slowly. “I understand now.” And just like that, he turns on his heel and walks out the door. The jangle of the bell jars Dean out of his stupor. “Wait! What do you understand?” he asks hysterically to the closed door.

A waitress walks past and pats him patronizingly on the shoulder. Dean blinks.

He still doesn’t get it, not really. He’s starting to, but there’s a few more days of awkward silences and Sam’s eyerolls before Dean grabs Cas by the lapels and lets him know through teeth and tongue that, yeah, he understands too.

For now, though, there’s an uncertainty. An uncertainty with an answer in sight. And it’s one he very much cares to discover.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
